


We'll Sing Like Everyone When They're Alone

by thehoundisdead



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix-It, Fluff, M/M, aint no sadness here folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-08 21:31:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20842322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehoundisdead/pseuds/thehoundisdead
Summary: Stan isn't afraid anymore, not after everything he's been through. He just wishes his friends would get the message.Or, Five Times the Losers Thought Stan was Scared and One Time Someone Else Wastitle from the song this is the house that doubt built by a day to remember





	We'll Sing Like Everyone When They're Alone

_ Ben _

The sun beats down on their shoulders, warm and familiar, from where they stand at the edge of the cliff. They’re all dirty; Bev is caked in thick, dark blood from head to toe, Ben looks like he just waltzed out of a dirt nap and the rest all carry a different degree of their own disheveled filth. But they’re all here, they’re together and soon they’ll all cleanse themselves in the dirty quarry water. It’ll mark the end of an era; the passage into a new stage of their lives; a better one. One where they can all breathe, one where they can stick together. 

Bev jumps first because Bev _ always _ jumps first. She’s the bravest of them all, the boldest, the most daring; they can hear her laughter bubbling back up to them the whole way down. She showed them up when they were kids and Stan is certain she’s going to keep showing them up for the rest of their lives. When they hear her splash, Bill turns around to look at each of them, eyes lingering on Stan last. He looks so much older now; there are wrinkles next to his eyes and gray wisps in his hair, stubble littering his chin. But there’s something in the way his lips pull up on one side, the way his eyes glitter in the sunshine; Stan can see the boy he once was, brave and tall and capable of making Stan’s heart flutter without even meaning to. He can see the muscles of his arm, the tired droop to his shoulders and he’s just a little too far away, a little too far for Stan to reach out and touch. But he’s going to, before he goes back to Georgia, he’s going to grab Bill’s face and touch his ears, his nose, his hair, just like he’s wanted to since he was thirteen years old. Bill nods at Stan, smiling that crooked smile and then he’s off with a shout, free falling into the water below. 

“I’m not doing this again,” Eddie says quickly, looking around like he’s ready to fight when he hears Richie snort next to him. His eyes zero in and he takes a half step towards Richie, angling his body just a little to the side to face him, “I’m _ sorry _ I’m not a fucking idiot, _ Richard _-”

“Oh, come on, Spaghedward,” Richie laughs, grabbing Eddie’s hand to thread their fingers together and drags him right off the edge so they can jump together. It makes sense; they’ve always been stronger as a team, they work best when they’re egging each other on. Stan cracks a smile at the faint _ “fuck you!” _that drifts back up to them. 

Mike steps up next, eyes closed and head tilted back towards the sky. He somehow looks older and younger, like a weight has finally been lifted off him; he’s smiling at the world around him and without another moment of hesitation or even opening his eyes, he takes a few quick steps and then he’s gone. 

Stan steps up to the edge to peer down at the water below. Bev has her hands on Mike’s shoulders, where she’s desperately trying to dunk him under the water, peels of laughter falling from her lips, while Mike flails around, trying to throw her off so he can dunk _ her _ . He can hear Eddie’s and Richie’s voices bickering, and he smiles to himself when Richie brings up a hand to softly scrub at the dirt crusted on Eddie’s face. Eddie’s hands reach out instinctively, holding on tightly to the crook in Richie’s arms. And Bill. Bill who is sunk low, the cool water flowing around his shoulders as he squints back up at Stan, like he’s waiting for something. _ Like he’s waiting for me, _ Stan thinks to himself. He steps even closer to the edge, bare feet catching on the rocks beneath him. He’s about to jump, to meet Bill down there in the well loved water when Ben’s voice pipes up behind him. 

“It’s not like when we were kids, you know,” Ben starts, sounding like he’s trying his best at sympathetic, walking forward to stand next to Stan. Ben had always been soft, a mom to the rest of them when they needed it, but how can he not see the change in Stan? Stan can feel it whirring through him in the way he walks, holds himself, the way he _ breathes_, “I just mean, you don’t have to. If you’re scared, you don’t have to jump.” 

Stan takes a second to think about that, ignoring the annoyance that hums through him. _ I’m not a kid anymore, Mom! _ He thinks back to all the times he’d jumped as a kid, the sting of fear every time his feet left solid ground, the way his heart raced in his chest long after he hit the water. But he also remembers wanting to, remembers looking down at his friends the way he is now, remembers vaulting off the side with the faith that they’d still be there when he landed. He remembers Bill smiling up at him from the water and yelling _ Come on, Stan!_, remembers landing with a splash next to him, remembers smiling sunnily and splashing and tackling. He remembers the feeling of happiness that followed every jump, “I never _ had _ to.”

With the sunshine on his back and his friends waiting down below, Stan leaps. 

~*-*~

The water is warmer than he thought it would be, the sunshine rippling on its surface. From underneath everything looks slower, softer. He can see Eddie and Richie splashing around, Eddie tackling Richie under the water and Richie just holding on. Bev is floating in the water, hands and feet moving slowly, serenely. Mike stands next to her like he’s still watching guard after all these years. 

The world around him glows hazy green and yellow, his own hands move unhurried for the first time in twenty-seven years. Time is at a stand still, here, with all of them together in _ their _ place. This place, this dirty water and jagged rocks was made for _ them_, for peace and safety and-

Cold hands grab his shoulders and drag him above the water’s surface. Bill stands in front of him, eyebrows furrowed but with an easy smile on his face. His hair is dripping and stuck to his forehead but the sunshine makes certain strands gleam fire red. Stan wants to run his fingers through it, to trace the color to the back of his neck and softly cup his hand there, to use that leverage to drag him closer. 

“Don’t forget to come up for air, Stanley,” Bill says, hands still firm on Stanley’s shoulders. 

“Do I need to?” Stan asks, smiling slyly and looking up at Bill through heavy lidded eyes, floating closer all the while, “When you’re here to pull me up.”

“Point. I _ am _ here,” Bill smiles back, fingers moving from his shoulders, his arms, his wrists, his hands, “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I know,” Stan whispers, eyes closed and smiling bigger than he can remember since he left this town at eighteen, threading his own slippery wet fingers with Bill’s, “I know.” 

Jumping isn’t so bad, he thinks to himself, as long as Bill promises to be there when he lands. 

~*-*~

_ Bev _

Two days later finds Stan sitting on the bottom step of the stairs in the inn, watching Bev drag her suitcase across the top landing. He’d offer to help, but they both know out of the two of them who is stronger. It’d be an insult to her character really. So, he stays where he’s at, watching her pull along her own and what looks like Ben’s suitcase down the stairs, a loud _ thump _ sounding off with every new step. 

“You’re leaving already?” he asks when she reaches the bottom, kicking the bags down the final steps. They hadn’t been there that long, really, and Stan _ had _taken two weeks off of work. He’d planned to bask in the new air of this town, hitting old haunts and most of all spending time with his friends, pretending they were all thirteen again. Mostly, going back to Georgia just didn’t feel right yet.

“Mm, yeah, me and Ben,” she shrugs off her backpack, letting it clatter to the ground next to her bags and takes a seat next to Stan. She grins up at him with this big, goofy smile, “He has a boat. It’s out there in Port Whatever-the-fuck, just waiting for me to lay out on. I’m gonna get tan and drink piña coladas, just you wait.” 

“You deserve it,” he says, bumping his shoulder into hers, “You did just bully a clown to death.” 

“It’s what I was made for, really,” she laughs along with him, scooting closer so their legs are pressed together. 

“It just seems so soon, you know?” Stan whispers, eyes forward where he watches Eddie and Richie argue in the next room. His lip pulls up in a half smile when he sees Eddie raise his hand, _ have you ever heard of a staph infection? _

“Hey,” Bev says in that soft voice she’s always known when to pull out, hand coming to rest on Stan’s knee, “It’s not going to be like last time. We’re all different now.”

“What?” he asks, his head snapping back to look at her. 

“We won’t lose each other again,” she says, her eyes wide and sad like she really thinks Stan is going to stumble back out into the world and never talk to any of them again. As if he even could. 

His mind drifts back to the night before, when Bill had woken him up at three am by slowly creeking his door open and sliding into Stan’s bed. He thinks about tucking his face into the crook of Bill’s neck, how Bill had traced his fingers up and down Stan’s spine and whispered, _ “Don’t fuh-forget me this time.” _ Stan had smiled against his skin, fingers running down the length of Bill’s side to land on his hip, _ “How can I?” _ he’d asked, grip on Bill’s hand tightening, _ “This time, I’m taking you with me.” _

“I know,” he says back and he means it, thinking about Bill’s shoes kicked off carelessly in _ his _ room, watch landing on _ his _ nightstand. 

“I’m serious, Stan,” Bev says, eyes still holding firm on Stan, “You don’t have to be scared.” 

“I _ know_,” he repeats, voice more irritated than it should be. He knows he’s not as strong or as _ brave _ as Bev, but he likes to think she might have known him better, even after all these years spent apart. He’s not a scared little boy anymore; he knows his place with his friends and he’s not about to let them go again. 

Bev stares at him for a moment longer and then nods her head, apparently having found something in his face satisfying, “I know I’m not, at least. This time, I’m dragging Ben along with me. Or maybe he’s dragging me, it is his boat after all.” 

“Sure,” Stan laughs, as if Bev could be dragged anywhere she didn’t want to go. 

“Maybe,” she starts, fingers dancing on Stan’s knee, nodding her head to Bill as he walks in the room and smiles down at Stan, “You should take someone with you too.” 

Stan thinks about Bill’s arms coming to wrap around him, how he’d whispered, _ “I could get used to Georgia.” _and he smiles his own goofy smile, first at Bev and then looking up to meet Bill’s eyes, “I think I just might.” 

Leaving town, growing up, it isn’t as scary now. His heart doesn’t race at the thought of boarding a plane and going back to his adult job states away from where he grew up. Now it only races with excitement when he pictures Bill on the plane next to him. 

~*-*~

It happens again that night. Stan’s eyes flutter open at two in the morning at the sound of his door creaking open. The soft hallway light allows him to see the shadow of a person, of Bill, sliding into his room in sock clad feet. He shuts the door behind him with a quiet click and leans back against it for just a moment. 

“Stanley?” he whispers, “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” Stanley groans, but all the while scoots to the side and lifts the blanket next to him, making room. Bill glides over and slips into the bed next to him, hands immediately reaching out to grab at Stanley, to pull him closer and closer until they’re all folded up together. 

“I missed you,” Bill whispers into the skin of Stan’s neck, fingers gripping his side, “I couldn’t remember you but I _ missed _ you.” 

“I missed you too, Bill,” Stan mumbles back into the darkness of his room, “Always. I just didn’t know what I was missing.” 

“Don’t let go this time,” Bill says, one hand coming up to grab onto the dark curls at the nape of his neck, “Take me with you.”

“I will, Bill,” Stan whispers, wrapping his arms more firmly around Bill, “I promise.” 

~*-*~

_ Eddie _

“And, you know, I’m just saying, I looked him up and his career is a _ mess_, Stanley, a mess!” Eddie yells from where he’s walking next to him on the street, hands flailing, “I mean, has he ever _ heard _ of an event planner?” 

“It’s Richie,” Stan rolls his eyes, “Of course he hasn’t.” 

“Point,” Eddie says, “Anyways, I’ve decided to become his tour manager.” 

“You’ve decided?” Stan asks, squinting at Eddie, “Shouldn’t you, like, ask him first?” 

“Ask him? What do I need to ask him for?” Eddie shouts, “Besides, I don’t care what he has to say, I’m doing it anyways.” 

“Sure,” Stan mumbles, feet coming to a stop outside of a tall building with red-brown brick and one small, beautiful stained glass window. He remembers being in there all the time as a kid, remembers _ you’re not studying, Stanley, _ and feeling like he’d never be good enough, like he’d never understand any of it well enough to please his father. He feels Eddie’s hand on his shoulder, pulling him away from the building. 

“Hey,” he starts, voice calmer, slower than it usually is. 

“I’m fine,” Stan replies and the thing is; he absolutely is. The sight of the Synagogue doesn’t make his belly fill with anxiety the way it once did or make his hands tremble. It’s just a building. 

“We’re not kids anymore,” Eddie says, pulling Stan away from the building, “It doesn’t have any power over you.” 

_ This again? _Stanley thinks to himself, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes, “I know.” 

“Listen, man, I get it, okay. I had shitty parents too, but,” he says over the indignation that is slowly coursing through Stan, “We’re all different now. You don’t have to be afraid anymore.” 

“I’m not scared,” Stan replies. He thinks about his bar mitzvah, about saying what he wanted in front of everyone, of shirking away from his father because he _ would _ be heard. He thinks about standing up to his father at his graduation, about telling him he was moving to Georgia and never looking back, he thinks about how he looked his father in the eye and said _ ‘You were wrong’_. He’s not scared. Not anymore. 

Eddie’s eyes linger on him for a few more seconds before he nods, dropping his hand from his shoulder, “I’m being serious, though, I looked at some of his past tour schedules and they make _ no sense, _ Stanley, like do you think he’s ever even seen a map of the country?” 

“I don’t know,” Stan laughs as they walk forward, “Maybe he was waiting for someone to come along and fix it for him.” 

“That’s exactly right! And here I am. Expect to hear about the world’s next greatest tour manager, Eddie Kaspbrak.” 

~*-*~

“Do you still go to Temple?” Bill whispers into the back of Stan’s neck that night, breath making the little curls of hair there twitch. 

“Not really,” Stan whispers back, fingers dancing over the knuckles of Bill’s hand where it rests on his stomach. He smiles, turning his face to the side so he can catch a glimpse of Bill’s face out of the corner of his eye, “Why? You ready to convert and make an honest man out of me?” 

“I would,” Bill says in a voice so serious it makes Stan’s breath catch. His hand slides up Stan’s body, brushing at curls that lay against his forehead and placing a soft kiss against his neck, “If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.” 

“Bill,” Stan whispers, voice breathy like he can’t catch it. He can feel Bill’s smile pressed into his skin. 

“You don’t have to decide anything now,” Bill mumbles, hands squeezing Stan closer to him just a little tighter, “But I want to be with you. For a long time. I can’t imagine wanting anyone else the way I want you.” 

~*-*~

_ Mike _

“What are we looking for again?” Mike asks with a grunt, pushing aside another box. 

“I don’t know, it’s, a picture I guess?” Stan shrugs, rifling through a box of his own, “My mom said it would be here.” 

“Why does she need it?” Mike asks, yanking out old clothes from his box, trying to sort them in a way that makes sense. 

“You know what, Mike, at this age I just don’t question her anymore,” Stan huffs, kicking aside his box and turning back towards the closet, “She always wins and I’m trying to be in this house the least amount of time possible.” 

“While that’s _ fair _I just don’t understand-”

“You know you didn’t _ have _ to come, Mike,” Stan snaps but stops to grin up at him. Mike rolls his eyes back and let’s himself slip into an easy smile. 

“You know it’s not like that, Stan.”

“Sure, sure,” Stan laughs, watching Mike move towards the closet with him, grabbing at things on the left side, “I knew it was too much to ask you to do this _ tiny _ favor for me.”

“Oh, shut up,” Mike laughs, reaching up on his toes to pull something from the top. From the frown on his face, Stan can guess it’s not budging. He steps closer, arms reaching out above him to help. 

“Here, let me-”

“No, I got it I just need to-” Mike yanks and then all at once everything is falling. A loud slam draws both of their eyes down, to a brown frame, a disfigured woman, a flute, “Shit.”

The second Mike recognizes it he tries to hide it, using his body as a guard between the painting and Stan. Even after all this time, Mike is everyone’s protector. But Stan doesn’t need it this time, because seeing the painting doesn’t make him break out in a cold sweat, it doesn’t make his eyes instinctively snap shut the way it once did. 

“Hey it’s-”

“Don’t look!” Mike shouts, grabbing at the painting so he can turn it away, half frantic with the struggle until Stan puts a hand on his shoulder. 

“I’m not _ scared_, Mike,” Stan very nearly snaps. He’s so over being babied, he understands that maybe he was the most afraid as kids but he was still _ there _ every step of the way. He watched It die in front of him, had fought it with hands and words and stood tall, defiant, the whole time. He doesn’t need to be constantly watched over now, at least not for trivial things. 

“You’re...” Mike trails off, looking at him with this tiny confused frown, body going slack though he still stands in the way of the painting, “You’re not?” 

“It’s a painting, Mike,” Stan deadpans, trying very hard not to let his fingers curl into fists. He wants to shout _ I’m not a baby! _much like a baby would; instead he shrugs his shoulders and turns away, “It can’t hurt me.” 

“It can’t....Yeah,” the slow creep up of a giant, toothy smile is a sight Stanley is glad to see. Mike shakes his head, one hand flying up to rub at the back of his neck while he grins down at Stan, “Yeah. It can’t hurt you.” 

“Now,” Stan says, grabbing the painting and dragging it to the other side of the room, “Are you going to help me find the picture for my mom, or what?”

~*-*~

“Do you have any art in your house?” Bill asks later the night, sitting on the couch in the inn with his laptop. Stan sits carefully next to him, scooting close enough that their shoulders bump gently together. 

“Some,” Stan says, trying to think back to everything he has, all of the little ornaments he has on his walls, “Why?” 

“I’m just trying to picture it,” Bill smiles up at him, leaning to the side to let his head fall on Stan’s shoulder, “I’ve never seen your house, y’know.”

“I think you’d like it,” Stan says, leaning his cheek against the top of Bill’s head. He thinks about the office he never uses that would be perfect for writing, thinks about the little window nook he uses for reading, his soft blankets, his bed that’s too big for just one person, “If you want to see it.”

_ “If I want to see it,” _ Bill repeats, lifting his head to stare at Stan with an amused glint in his eyes, “I think at this point it’s safe to say I want to see it.” 

“Well I don’t want to assume,” Stan smiles as Bill settles back against his shoulder. 

“Assume away, Stanley,” Bill laughs, turning back to his laptop, “I’m going to buy you a painting.” 

“A painting?” Stan laughs. 

“Yeah, a good one. One you’ll like,” Bill says, already typing away in search, “Probably with a giant bird or something. Get ready.” 

_ “God,” _Stan laughs, bringing his arm up to wrap around Bill’s shoulders, “I’m ready, Bill. I’m finally ready.” 

~*-*~

_ Richie _

“Hey, Richie, Bill and I are-” 

“One second,” Richie mouths to him, phone pressed against his ear, “Yeah, well fuck you too.” 

“What the hell?”

“Well, that was a blast,” Richie says, ignoring what Stan said as he drops onto the couch next to him, jostling him in the process. Stan takes a second to glare at him, fingers gripping onto the arm of the couch a little too firmly as he tries in vain to hold himself in place. 

“What was that?” he asks finally, when it becomes clear Richie has no intention of acknowledging his glare. 

“I may or may not have just told Eddie’s wife to go fuck herself,” Richie says with a shrug the same way a normal person would say _ I dropped my shoe. _

“I’m sorry, you _ what?_” his voice is very nearly a strained shout, eyebrows raising high on his forehead. He’s pretty sure at this point, Richie has cost him years off his life just from the shear stress alone. 

“Listen, Dee Dee Blanchard had it coming, okay?” Richie laughs, elbow nudging Stan, “Besides, it’s fine. Eddie told me he doesn’t care what I say to her.” 

“Sure,” Stan nods, voice thick with psuedo-agreement, “That sounds exactly like Eddie.” 

“What can I say, he’s turned over a new leaf,” Richie shrugs, throwing both his arms up so they rest on the back of the couch, eyebrows wiggling at Stan, “It’s because he loooooves me.” 

“Sometimes miracles _ do _happen, I guess,” Stan deadpans, resolutely not smiling at the gooey look in Richie’s eyes he gets whenever he thinks about Eddie. 

“They really do,” he smiles, eyes losing focus momentarily before snapping back to Stan with a vengeance, “_And _ they could happen for you too, if you would just quit your job as manager of Weenie Hut Junior.” 

“That’s actually-”

“I mean, come on Stannibal Buress, you’ve had a crush on Denbrough since we were like _ thirteen _ don’t you think it’s time you do something about it?” Richie laments. 

“First of all, don’t call me that. Second of all-” 

“I _ know _ it’s scary, but sometimes you have to-”

And there’s something about the tone of Richie’s voice, mostly sympathetic but just a little bit patronising that makes something snap inside Stan. And it should because that’s not who Stan is, not anymore. He thinks about how he’d dragged Bill closer to him, how Bill had asked a nervous _ what are you doing? _ And Stanley had just smiled, thumbs going to caress Bill’s cheek bones as he leaned in close. He thinks of how Bill had clutched at him, holding him closer of how he’d whispered, _ I’ve always wanted to do that, Stan_, “Oh for _ fucks _ sake, Richie, will you shut the fuck up for one second?”

“Okay, Ly-stan-throphy, don’t go all werewolf rage on me, Jesus,” Richie says, raising his hands in surrender. 

“Well if you would _ listen_,” Stan snaps, shaking his head, “Bill and I are already together.” 

“_What? _ What the fuck? When did this happen? When were you going to tell me?” Richie asks, jumping up from the couch to pace around the room, stopping in front of Stan to point a finger in his face, “We are supposed to be pining buddies how _ dare _ you not tell me immediately!” 

“Oh, sorry my first thought when I kissed Bill wasn’t _ hmm better go tell, Richie!_” Stan mocks, crossing one leg over the other. His fingers drum against the arm of the couch and he raises his left eyebrow in a staunchly unimpressed look. 

“It should have been! I told you about Eddie, like, ten minutes after we did it!” Richie shouts accusingly, throwing his hands in the air. 

“Yes and I really wish you hadn’t,” Stan sighs, standing up and placing his hands on Richie’s shoulders to stop his haphazard movements, “But really? You couldn’t tell? We’re only together, like, all the time and he’s been sneaking into my room every night for the past week.” 

“Do you really think I’m paying attention to what _ Bill _ is doing when I have Eddie in my bed, Stan? Really?” Richie raises his eyebrows, glasses sliding down on his face slightly as he gives Stan his best incredulous look. 

“Richie, I am literally begging you to stop telling me about _ anything _ that has to do with Eddie and your bed.”

“Beg all you want, you signed up for it when you became my best friend,” he cracks a smile then, smug as he watches Stan sigh dramatically. 

“I was a dumb child,” Stan replies, voice grave, raising an eyebrow at Richie’s sharp cry of betrayal. 

“But also, wait, wait, back up. What do you mean when _ you _ kissed _ Bill?_” 

“When two people like each other very much-” 

“Oh, fuck you,” Richie snaps, getting more and more impatient for details, “Are you telling me Bill didn’t make the first move? _ You _ did?”

“Why is that so shocking?” Stan snaps, annoyance leaking into his voice. 

“Um, do you remember you? When we were kids, you wouldn’t even _ look _ at Bill when we were at the quarry,” Richie says, looking smug as if he’d just come up with an arguement ending point. 

“Yeah but I’m not a _ scared _ little kid anymore, Richie, I would think if _ anyone _ could tell it would be you,” Stan bites with real heat lingering behind his words, eyebrows coming together to squint at Richie through a glare, “My _ best _ friend, huh?”

“I didn’t mean it like that-”

“But you did, _ just _ like everyone else here, handling me with kid gloves,” Stan says, trying desperately not to shout at Richie. Richie has been his _ best _ friend for as long as he can remember, even when he _ couldn't _ remember; so it hurts more. 

“Whatever, it’s fine,” Stan mumbles after a moment of silence, standing up, wiping his hands on his pants as he does. He can see Richie’s mouth moving to open, to say something that Stan’s sure he doesn’t want to hear, “It’s _ fine_, Richie, I’m not mad, I’m just going to go upstairs.” 

~*-*~

Stan does not throw things when he’s angry. He does not yell or punch walls. He is not a violent person even when he can feel an indignant fury thrumming through him (he’s _ not,_ Pennywise, he’s not unless he _ has _to be). He grew up civilized, thank you very much. 

That being said, he kind of wants to grab the stupid, ugly analogue clock from the bedside table and throw it against the wall. 

He picks it up, feeling the cold, heavy weight of it in his hands, can hear the _ tick-tick-ticking _ of the thin red second hand moving with time. Pacing the room, he presses his thumbs firmly into the glass face of the clock, willing time to stop. He’s already done his growing up, he’s not an anxious little kid anymore, he’s _ not_, he needs to get out of this sick little town, bloated with apathy and ignorance, where everyone still thinks he’s liable to cry if someone looks at him wrong-

“Hey,” Bill says softly as he opens the door to Stan’s room, though most of his belongings now seem to have found a home here too, so it might just be _ their _ room. 

“Hey, Bill,” Stan says to the alarm clock, continuing to pace the same stretch around the bed. He can feel Bill’s eyes on him from where he’s pressed with his back against the door but he doesn’t look up to meet them. 

“Stan. Stanley,” Bill says, stepping out in front of him to block his path. His hands come up to cover Stanley’s, gently peeling his fingers off the clock, “You okay?” 

“Peachy,” Stan deadpans, but he can already feel some of the tension seep out of him as Bill drops the clock onto the bed. He can’t help but flick his eyes up when he hears Bill snort out a laugh. Bill looks soft in a worn blue and gray plaid flannel and old jeans, brown-red hair graying with time. He lets Bill thread their fingers together, watching the worried pinch in his brow. 

“You’re not going to be able to do that forever, you know,” Stan says, finally cracking a smile and stepping closer to crowd in Bill’s space. 

“Do what?” Bill asks, letting go of Stanley’s hands so he can wrap one arm around his waist, dragging the other up to tangle in the curls at the nape of his neck. He seems to really like Stanley’s curls, based on how often he touches them. 

“Make me calm down,” Stan says. Even Bill’s eyes are soft, the hue of his iris’ gentle and warm, “Sometimes I’m going to be mad and you can’t stop me.” 

“I’m not trying to stop you,” Bill says, in a voice so earnest Stanley kind of wants to roll his eyes, “If you want to be mad, be mad.” 

“How am I supposed to when you’re being all supportive?” Stan asks, shuddering when he feels Bill’s thumb begin to rub back and forth on the soft skin of his neck. 

“Well,” Bill smiles so brightly it hurts to look at him, “Maybe I’m just good for you.” 

Stan reaches out, hand cupping Bill’s jaw to pull him closer, lips pressing gently against Bill’s. When he pulls back, Bill’s cheeks have a dusty rose color and he presses their foreheads together so he can see it up close, “I think you always have been.” 

~*-*~

_ Bill _

Bill sits criss cross in the middle of <strike>_ their _</strike> his bed as he packs all of his stuff together. Stan’s flight back to Georgia is in the morning because after everything that’s happened they’re all still expected to just go back to work. It’s all a little too normal for Stan. 

Bill is frowning from his spot, watching Stan pull his clothes from the cheap dresser drawers. He’s been like that all day, growing more and more anxious as the day went on. Stan walks over to him now, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the wrinkled lines of his forehead, smiling when he feels Bill lean into him. 

“We’re going to see each other again soon,” Bill says, hands reaching up to grip at Stanley’s shirt. 

“You have a flight booked for Georgia in a week from today,” Stanley agrees, already writing a mental list of all the things he wants to do before Bill gets there. _ (Clean sheets, buy new sheets? Fancy Egyptian cotton ones. No. Too presumptuous? Go to the grocery store, ask Bill what kind of snacks he likes-) _

“We won’t forget,” Bill says, like he’s chanting off a list. He moves to sit at the edge of the bed, spreading his legs so that Stan can stand between them, hands resting on Bill’s shoulders. 

“Not this time,” Stan agrees again, moving some of the hair off Bill’s forehead, “This time we’ll remember everything.” 

“And you’re okay, it didn’t, it didn’t hurt you,” Bill says, running his hands up and down Stan’s sides like he’s checking for a hidden injury. It makes Stan’s heart feel warm in a way he didn’t know it could so he presses his thumbs into Bill’s shoulders a little sharper, loving the smile he gets in return. 

“Nothing that’ll last.”

“And you don’t have to be scared,” Bill says in a much quieter voice, eyes looking away from Stan. Everything freezes for a second, Stan can feel his veins go cold, his fingers stilling on Bill’s forehead. 

“What?” he asks, stepping out of Bill’s space. Bill instinctively makes little grabby hands as he goes, trying to drag Stanley back to him and normally, Stan would think that’s cute, but for now he just takes another step back. 

“Stanley-”

“Is that what you think of me?” Stan’s voice is shakier than he would like because as much as he’s been boasting about not being scared anymore _ this _, this idea that Bill still thinks of him like that makes something deep inside him quiver, “You think I’m still just this panicky little twelve year old?” 

“That’s not-” 

“I can, I can handle it when the others do, Bill, I get it, but you,” Stan stops, throat closing tight around his words. He thinks about the nights they spent in here, wrapped up in each other and talking about anything, everything. He thinks about growing up with Bill, following him around like a puppy and Bill following him in return, “You’re supposed to know me.”

“Stanley,” Bill says, standing up from the bed and taking a step forward, frowning when Stan takes another step back, bumping into the wall behind him. 

“I fought it, just like everyone else,” Stanley nearly cries, nostrils flaring as he tries valiantly to stop his eyes from watering, “I came _ back, _ just like everyone else, I helped kill it, I did my part, so I don’t know where you all get off, especially _ you _ Bill, treating me like I’m still the kid who was too afraid to walk down to the Barrens.” 

“Stanley!” Bill _ does _ shout but mostly only because Stanley just keeps talking over him. He steps forward again, hands in front of him like he’s walking towards a wild animal, “I know you’re not scared anymore.” 

“You _ just _said-”

“Because _ I’m _ scared,” Bill says, efficiently stopping everything that’s going through Stan’s head. Because there’s no way that’s true; Bill was always fearless, he was their leader, he walked them into Neibolt without looking back. There’s no way he’s scared _ now _ when everything’s settled, “I was talking to myself.”

“What?” 

“Stanley,” Bill says in a soft voice, taking the last few steps towards him, grabbing on of his hands, “You’re the only one who rememebered. Not once you got to Derry, we all remembered eventually, but _ you, _ you remembered on the phone. Mike just had to tell you to come back and you _ remembered _ and yet you still came. I can’t, I don’t know that I would have done the same. I don’t know if any of the rest of us _ could _ have, I think, I think I might have run away. But you, you _ knew _ what you were walking back into, knew you were headed back to that fucking well and you still got on a plane. Because you promised. Because it was right. Because you’re so, so brave Stan, you always have been. 

“I thought I was brave too,” Bill starts, waving his hand when Stan moves to interrupt, “No, it’s true! I thought I was brave, but I think, I think I was just stupid. It was one thing when I was risking myself but now, now I have you Stanley. And you terrify me.” 

“Me?” Stan asks in a small voice, fingers gripping Bill’s hand tightly in his own. Bill smiles at him, this shy, broken little thing. 

“You,” Bill nods, “I’m so scared one day you’re going to wake up and forget about everything, about me, or that you’ll realize you don’t want a remnant from your childhood hanging around or you’ll get hurt. And I, I don’t know what I would do if any of that happened.

“Because Stan you have to know, you have to know how important you are to me,” Bill inches forward, empty hand reaching out to clutch at Stan’s hip, “You’re everything.” 

“Bill,” Stan says reverently, hand flying up to pat at Bill’s chest, his shoulder, resting on his cheek, “None of that, you don’t have to worry.” 

“That’s not really how that works.” 

“No, I mean, I never forgot you, not _ really. _Even when I didn’t, I still,” Stan stutters out, trying to articulate what he means, “I read all your books.”

“You did?” 

“Yes. I knew I knew you, and I didn’t know why but I knew you were important to me, Bill,” Stan says, eyes holding Bill’s, trying to push his meaning out, trying to make Bill understand, “Even when it’s fog was still over us, I couldn’t let you go. Not completely.” 

“Stanley.”

“I love you,” Stan says out loud, to a boy, to _ Bill, _in a voice more confident than he would have ever thought he could muster, “And now that I have you, I’m not about to let you go.” 

“I love you too,” Bill whispers, leaning in to press his face close to Stanley’s, “I love you too.” 

~*-*~

“The air is wet,” Bill says in a sour voice as they drag his bags through the parking lot of the airport. It, mixed with the twisted frown he’s sporting, has Stan throwing his head back with a burst of laughter. 

“It is,” Stan says with a wry smile, leading Bill deeper and deeper into the parking lot. 

“The air is wet,” Bill starts again, but this time he’s smiling, eyes shining up at Stan, “And you parked in the back of the parking lot.” 

“Oh, _ sorry _ I don’t want people to ding my doors while I walk all the way up there to pick _ you _ up,” Stanley snaps back in a voice devoid of any and all bite. When they finally reach his car, Bill lets out a little cheer, shoving his suitcases into the trunk as fast as he can. 

They climb into the car and Bill cranks up the AC the second Stanley turns the car on. Stan laughs again, shaking his head as he checks his surroundings, hand reaching down to grab the gear shift but is stopped by Bill’s. 

“Hey,” Bill says, smiling again, that bright little smile saved just for Stanley, “You’re good here.” 

“What?” Stan asks with a laugh. 

“Here. In Georgia,” Bill repeats, hand reaching to grab at the collar of Stan’s button up shirt, “You’re good here.” 

“You’ve been here for all of five seconds, Bill,” Stan says with a roll of his eyes. 

“But I know,” Bill replies, voice confident. He pulls Stan across the seat to press a not so short kiss to his lips, “And I can’t wait to see it everyday.” 

Stan holds Bill’s hand in his own while he drives, he moves Bill into his house, his space, with a fearless excitement. He doesn’t leap by himself anymore, doesn’t have to; now he has Bill’s hand pressed against his for every jump. He has no reason to be scared. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> [talk to me on tumblr!](https://stanleyyelnatsthethird.tumblr.com)


End file.
